


Out of Reach

by hobbeshalftail3469



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Bridget Jones style drunken night, Drunken phone calls, F/M, Post Divorce, Pre Relationship, Robin realises she likes Strike, Strike goes on an impromptu date, admission of feelings, copious amounts of Baileys, vomitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-11-28 02:41:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18202421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469
Summary: Heavily inspired by teh Ross/Rachel initial 'getting together' in Friends when Rachel realises she likes Ross whilst he's away, but he returns with a lady friend in tow.......in this version, Strike is off on training and Robin realises she misses him. She intends to tell him when he returns that she likes him, but he brings back a female he met on the training course.Cue sad, sobbing Robin drowning her sorrows in Baileys, Ben and Jerry's and a Bridget Jones style evening of hairbrush singing. She makes a drunken phone call of admission to Strike.Titles of chapters are taken from the Soundtrack to Bridget Jone's Diary!





	1. Don't get me wrong

**Author's Note:**

> I am picturing Robin's journey home and entry into her flat like Kate Winslet's journey home from work in The Holiday!

Strike had been gone for a week.

He'd been putting off updating his awareness of the changes to the new VAT and tax system in the UK, which he needed to get his head around for the business, and although he'd tried to get Robin to go instead she'd found a course which combined all of the relevant qualifications and modules they needed, together with an additional couple of days linked to Data Protection for small businesses and online management of secure systems.  
So he'd caved - the fact that they'd just solved and got paid for several cases and had a bit of 'slack time' helped.

It had been a residential event up in Nottingham, and he'd been in regular contact via phone.

Robin had missed him around the office; not after the first day (when it had been rather normal to not see him - such were their schedules), but around lunchtime on the Tuesday she'd sighed at the thought that she only needed to pick up one lot of sandwiches and one cup of coffee.   
Then on the Wednesday she'd found the day eeking out....and she'd gone into his offie on the pretext of updating some files, but in reality it was to sit in his chair and inhale the 'Cormoran' aroma which lingered and felt comforting.  
On Thursday she'd really struggled......sitting at his desk, drinking from 'his' mug, wrapping herself in the huge topcoat he used when it was cold or he wanted to appear really menacing........she'd come to the realisation that she wasn't just missing his presence in the office and as a work colleague....she was missing him!  
HIM!   
ALL of him.....in every way.

On Thursday night and during Friday she planned out what she would do.

Strike was single, she knew that.   
He hadn't dated anyone pretty much since Lorelei, and there had been definite 'moments' in the recent past, once her divorce came through, when she'd thought he was making it clear that he was interested in her....and at the time she'd been flattered, but hadn't really considered her own feelings about it - he was Corm - he was her work colleague - he was her friend.  
Well, friends can be lovers too, can't they? 

She was going to hang around the office late on the Friday - he was due back on a train into St.Pancras at about 6 o'clock, and she would ask him to the Tottenham; which was a traditional Friday thing they had established anyway....and she would tell him that she'd missed him......and she might make it clear that what exactly she meant by that.  
She hadn't worked out whether she would snog him, tell him or do both.....she was working on the assumption that she'd go with the flow and however he reacted would dictate her response.

She was quite giddy as she nervously fiddled with emails and her appearance as the minutes ticked by into hours on the clock.  
She'd put on a pair of decent black trousers, quite wide legged ones which clung across her backside, and a rich, plum coloured shirt which matched the slick of lipstick she'd added to her usual 'working week' make up.  
It was exciting to think that potentially, in a few hours time, she could have kissed Cormoran Strike.

The clock had ticked all the way to 6.37pm. 

The almost always dim light within Strike's part of their Denmark Street offices was beginning to be reflected into Robin's and she was starting to get cold feet, when she heard the jingling clatter of the downstairs door, followed by the slightly uneven tread of Strike's footsteps on the stairs.  
She couldn't prevent the small intake of breath and pressing of her hands to her flushed cheeks, and she moved to assume her slightly rehearsed 'I'm relaxed and just finishing up some files' pose.  
She then froze as she heard Strike's unmistakable rumbling voice and a returned comment in a much higher pitched, undeniably feminine tone, combined with a deep, throaty chuckle from him and a slightly breathy sounding response from whoever 'she' was.  
Robin's body deflated like a burst balloon and she hastily began rummaging around to gather her notebook, phone, keys and bag as she started closing down her computer.

Shit....she needed to not be here!

As he approached the familiar door Cormoran noticed the soft glow from the desk light he knew was located on the left hand corner of Robin's desk - positioned by her there in such a way that he could use it when he slouched and read notes on the farty sofa - and he paused, flexing his jaw at the realisation that she was still inside the office.  
He had messaged her earlier, before he'd got chatting in detail with Mel on the train.  
Mel had been doing the same module on GDPR regulations all day and they had struck up a bond as they both smoked.   
She was attractive, quite easy going and had ended up on the same train for the return to London - he'd discovered she lived in Hackney and ran a small photography business.   
During the course of the train journey Strike had realised that she was flirting and as they walked along the platform towards the exit together he asked if she fancied a drink.  
She'd said yes and the decision had been made to go together via Strike's place, drop off his luggage (Mel was only on the course for the day, so she wasn't encumbered) and they'd go off somewhere for a drink and possibly more.

She was the first person he'd asked out since everything kicked off with Robin - he'd been waiting for her divorce to come through - and he'd waited patiently for the last 6 weeks since it was finalised.   
He'd tried to demonstrate his wishes and feelings towards Robin - there were times when he was certain she'd noticed that his glances were not just those of caring work colleague anymore, and two weeks before, during their Friday night drink at the Tottenham he'd actually rested his arm lightly across her shoulders as they sat squeezed into a small pair of seats.....she hadn't pulled away.....but she hadn't moved towards him when he'd bent forwards slightly to initiate a kiss on the cheek....that he had intended to turn into one on her lips.  
And come Monday she'd mentioned something about having one too many in the pub, and suggested he go away for the next week on the training course....he'd taken that to be a clear sign from her that she wanted to put some space between them and for him to calm things down.

It had been a bit of a gut punch....but Mel seemed nice enough....and who knows.

Strike had intended to ask Mel to wait in the small office so that he could have a quick spruce up and do a flit around in his flat in case things developed later on!  
"Looks like my work colleague is still here, I'll introduce you while I ditch this," he said, indicating his trusty, ex- army holdall and opened the door, transferring his partially finished cigarette to his mouth to free up his hand.    
He was met with the flustered image of Robin, biting her lip and ramming items into her large bag.

Oh Fuck!   
Why was he here....and why was he not alone?

She was stuffing various things - Christ knows what exactly - into her bag and trying vainly not to catch his eye for fear he would notice the slightly watery  and shining condition of her stormy-grey eyes.

"Robin! Erm.....I didn't think you'd still be here. This is Mel....erm.....just make yourself comfortable, I won't be long," he directed the final statements towards the tall, slender, biker jacket clad woman who was eyeing her with that look - the one all woman can recognise as being 'oh yeah? so where do you sit with this guy? are you competition?'  
'Mel' reached over and removed the cigarette from Strike's lips and took a drag from it herself, blowing the smoke out and returning it to Strike's hand as he cleared his throat.  
It was such an intimate act....quite sexy really....and not one which he necessarily wanted played out infront of Robin.

Robin plastered a controlled and collected look on her face and managed to speak relatively calmly, "Yeah, I was just working on a few things for next week."  
Strike narrowed his eyes slightly - she looked slightly different to usual, he was trying to work out what it was about her appearance, "Did you need me for anything?" he asked and felt a flash of something, he wasn't sure what, as she finally met his gaze and replied.  
"No.....it's fine. You have a great weekend. I'll see you at work on Monday," and again she met his intense, hooded eyes with what she hoped were placid, unemotional ones of her own.

She was wrong......Strike immediately noticed that Robin's usual twinkling, animated face looked flat, and the lips that twisted into a 'smile' as she grabbed her coat and made her way down the staircase were not truly turned up at the edges and full of mirth as they usually were. Usually Robin's face had the ability to lift his mood....but on this occasion it actually seemed to dampen it.

He shrugged it off though as Mel spoke, "Can I smoke in here then?"  
"Erm....yeah - go through there I've got an ashtray on my desk...I won't be a minute," and he left his companion in order to have a quick tidy up in his flat, brush his teeth and throw on a fresh shirt.

The image of Robin's eyes flashed before him as he unfastened and then fastened shirt buttons.   
She'd looked sad.  
And the 'difference' to her face hit him too as he thought about her mouth and that smile that wasn't a Robin smile - she was wearing lipstick.   
Robin didn't do lipstick in the daytime; not even on their Friday trips to the Tottenham....she was a lipbalm kind of gal.

He was about to rejoin Mel when he paused and tapped out a text message :  
'Thanks for staying late Robin, and thanks for this week. I'll message you tomorrow. C'

Yeah......he was thankful she'd held things together while he'd done the training, and the office hadn't fallen apart in his absence....it was right that he said thanks to her.....just an appreciative colleague to colleague comment.

Robin was on her way to Leicester Square tube, which would take her the four stops to Camden Town where she had managed to find a ridiculously overpriced, but underpriced for central London, flat which was above a pub.   
She'd been living there for about 3 months and although she enjoyed the freedom and sense of adventure of living on her own, it was also lonely, especially when she had spent the week pretty much alone at work and had wanted so much more from this evening than the prospect of another evening in her flat.

She stopped by the local Tesco after alighting in Camden, she noticed a buzz of an incoming message and read Strike's offering - 'thanks for this week!' - yeah, no shit, he'd managed to bag himself a date and no doubt a shag......and she'd fucking arranged it!

She bought a litre bottle of Baileys which was on offer, a tub of Ben and Jerry's ice cream, a huge bar of Dairy Milk and an enormous bag of her favourite Salt and Vinegar crisps.

This would be a Bridget Jones night!


	2. All by myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin has a complete Bridget Jones style drunken meltdown in her flat.  
> There is Baileys, there is chocolate, there are crisps, there is a DVD, there is tuneless singing!  
> There is a very drunken phone call and finally there is the expected vomiting!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am picturing Robin's journey home and entry into her flat like Kate Winslet in The Holiday.

She slammed the outer door shut and thumped her way up the steep stairs to the small landing which contained the door to her flat, which had a separate key (it was one of the features of the flat that Strike had registered and nodded at when he’d given it his seal of approval!)  
The bottle of Baileys clunked against the second door as she tumbled her way through it.  
She had formed her face into a calm, stern mask during her journey home, which had begun to crumble slightly as she made her way up the stairs.  
She knew that the second she dared allow her brow to crease and her lip to tremble she’d be a sobbing mess......why had he picked someone up?  
And why didn’t he like her the way she liked him?  
And why didn’t he just know?  
And why was he so stupid?  
And why was he soooo gorgeous?

With the door kicked closed behind her she literally dumped her bag and shopping on the floor and dragged off her coat, leaving it to fall to the floor as she almost crawled across to her bed and flung herself across the colourful, patchwork coverlet, fat tears trailing down her cheeks and loud, shameless sobs wracking from her throat.  
She lay there, crying her heart out for what felt like an hour, but was more like twenty minutes.

Taking a few deep, shuddering and snotty breaths she sat herself up and looked across at herself in the long mirror on the wall. Somehow the sight of her ‘made an effort’ appearance infuriated her now and she quickly and somewhat carelessly got up and flung one heeled shoe after another across the floor, unfastened her decent trousers and allowed them to drop to a black puddle at her feet and swore as she fiddled with the small buttons on her blouse before discarding that too into a bundle of venom filled annoyance.

The emotion and actions had left her slightly breathless, and he panted slightly before shivering and reaching for her flannel pyjama bottoms, covered with multi-coloured polka-dots, and an oversized plain, powder blue sweat-style top which she wore with them. She pulled on a pair of cream, cashmere socks (a housewarming gift from Ilsa when she’d noticed the polished wood floors in Robin’s new flat!) and padded despondently back to her discarded bags.  
She tossed her handbag over to the door and took the carrier bag over to the small kitchenette area.  
The crisps and chocolate were placed on the counter, but the ice-cream was soft – that perfect ‘just got back from the shop’ type of softness that can never be replicated after stashing it in the freezer; so she ripped off the plastic seal and grabbed a spoon, sticking it straight up into the pot.  
She twisted the metal seal on the Baileys and reached out for a suitable glass, but muttered, “Fuck it!” and instead opted for a large, red wine glass and poured the thick, beige liquid up to the rim, slurping enough out so that she could carry it without spilling as she picked up the pot of Ben and Jerry’s in the other hand and went over to the snuggler style sofa which fitted into the small space and allowed her to tuck her legs up sideways as she watched TV.

Tonight however was not a TV night.....it was a DVD night....and only one DVD would do....

....she was single, a pathetic mess, had fucked up by marrying a complete twat and was in love with the man she worked with who was probably shagging a woman he’d met on a train....he might have already......[all of the above was orated in Robin’s inner monologue, complete with sniffs, rapidly rising pitch and ending in a squeaking tone only audible to dogs!]

She glugged down about half of her Baileys, downed 3 massive mouthfuls of ice-cream, sniffed, dragged her hand across her snot covered face and reached for her only friend......she was single too, and she was called Bridget Jones....

Robin slotted the disc into the player and allowed the film to get to the starting stage while she refilled her glass and returned to the sofa with it and the massive bar of Dairy Milk, which she ripped open, broke off a strip and used it as a spoon for her ice cream.

The familiar story and voices of Bridget; her glorious friends; Mark Darcy and Daniel Cleaver washed over her and she half watched, but half of her brain was still thinking about her own situation with Cormoran.

He clearly wasn’t interested in her....he was getting laid by a tall, slim biker chick......and she was just work Robin....Robin who brought him tea, and sandwiches, and the post....and restocked the biscuit tin....just practical, trustable (maybe that wasn’t a word?), pathetic Robin.  
The best part of half a litre of Baileys combined with a massive sugar overload might have been affecting her ability to keep things in perspective!

The famous fight sequence between Daniel and Mark started up and Robin stared wistfully at the scene,  
“Why didn’t Cormoran do that to Matthew the Twatthew?” she said aloud, raising and slightly sloshing her Baileys as she twisted and directed her comment towards the image of Renee Zellweger on the front of the DVD box.  
“And he put his arm around me in the pub....he did Briszhit!” she now slurred, “But he was sharing his cigarette with her.....the hussy!” she narrowed her eyes and twisted her face into a frustrated wince as she thought about Mel.  
She then flopped back on the sofa, “I didn’t mean that Briddy, she seemed perfectly nice....perfectly......perfect...like all of them are not pathetic wrecks like me....look at me! Fuck I need crisps!”

After a quick trip to the loo for a pee, she went to the counter and ripped open the salt and vinegar crisps, stuffing a handful into her mouth as she stood, and suddenly feeling the urge for more substantial food, but not trusting herself or wanting to wait for it to cook, she settled for Crunchy Nut Cornflakes, eaten straight from the box with her hands and switched between those and crisps in an effort to stabilise her now spinning head.

The ‘happy ending’ of the film was about to start, which made Robin groan with frustration and she picked up the remote control, aiming it and pressing buttons with fury and fumbling fingers in an attempt to stop the romantic fruition of the film, but only succeeding in pausing the screen as Mark Darcy engulfed the knicker clad Bridget inside his huge, black coat.  
Robin immediately thought of Strike big overcoat and started wrinkling her face afresh and actually went across to stroke the screen.

“Ohhhhhh......I want thaaaatttt!” she sobbed, hiccupping as she drained another glass of her Baileys.

Sniffing again and wiping a mixture of Irish cream, smudged eye makeup and tears across her face she poured what remained of the bottle into the glass, shaking it slightly as if in disbelief that it was almost all gone.  
She found her phone and looked through for a playlist....sad, pathetic, single, lonely, heartbroken female when entered came up with a surprisingly broad selection!  
She selected one which apparently had 408 songs on it, and made a loud, “Awwww” sound as the chords of Lady Antebelum’s Need you now started up.  
Robin sang along loudly tunelessly, swinging the remains of her Baileys filled glass and using the remote control as a pretend microphone.

She slumped back across the small sofa as the song faded and changed into the Gabrielle track from Bridget Jones that she’d already sobbed her way through in the film.  
She thought about the lyrics to Need you Now....it was definitely quite late now, around midnight, she was looking at her phone......it would be a stupid thing to ring him now......totally stupid.....

......so she rang him!

Her inner, drunken monologue told her that she would tell him that ringing him when she was drunk was a stupid thing to do, so she wasn’t going to do it...that’s what she’d tell him....she'd tell him that she wouldn't ring him.  
She nodded and burped Baileys and ice-cream as she dialled and waited for Strike to pick up.

 

Strike had passed a relatively relaxed and enjoyable evening so far in Mel’s easy-going company.  
They had strolled down to a pub in Soho for drinks – somehow he felt wrong taking her to the Tottenham – and he’d downed a couple of pints, she’d had a couple of gin and tonics.  
They’d then gone for an Indian meal, and everything had been informal and easy.  
They had talked a little about their businesses, which they had talked about briefly on the train.  
She was definitely the kind of woman that usually attracted Strike – she was independent, confident, attractive, intelligent enough to be both interesting and amusing.......and yet he wasn’t feeling it.  
There was no spark for him, although it was obvious as the evening went on and as she finished a further couple of G&Ts that she was flirting rather heavily and making her intentions quite evident.

After the starters and mains, and with drinks still left in their glasses they went out for a cigarette each.  
It was certainly quite pleasant to have company on his usually solo sojourns for nicotine.....but even the sight of her lips clasped around the orangey filter and her navy blue tipped fingers caressing the slim, white, burning stick was not urging his trouser region to action stations.  
The image of Robin’s deep, crimson lips however had flashed across his mind several times during the evening...once when he was in the relative privacy of the gents....and it had taken a few deep breaths in order to shake the thoughts and enable him to hit the porcelain.

Strike had lit up a second cigarette as Mel decided to nip to the loo when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Dragging it out he was slightly surprised to see that it was Robin calling him:  
C : Robin? Everything OK?

R : Corm’rn...it is OK! It’s all OK an’ I’m jus’ callin’ you to say tha’ I am not gunna phone you drunk and say somethin’ stupid ‘cos I’m drunk....

C : Robin...where are you?

R : I’m in my flat...in my single, lady flat an’ I’m listenin’ to sad songs an’ eatin’ crisps....an’ I’m not [hic].... not ‘maginin’ you as Mark Darcy with his big coat....an’ I am not runnin’ after you in my knickers [hic]

Cormoran’s face twisted into a mixture of amusement and concern at the sound of his clearly drunk, and quite frankly gorgeous sounding work colleague down the phone.

C: Have you eaten anything other than crisps?

R: Yes....’v course I have...'ve had ice-cream, an’ chocolate, an’ cornflakes and lots and lots of Baileys...it’s all gone. [on the other end of the phone Robin had picked up the lidless, empty bottle and was peering inside with one eye squeezed closed to verify her comment]

Strike sighed and shook his head slightly....why the hell was she in such a state? And who the hell was Mark Darcy and what did that have to do with Robin running around in her knickers?

C : Robin you sound really drunk. Why are you drunk?

Robin was now wandering around in her flat, aimlessly stroking items and picturing Strike’s face with his phone pressed to his ear as she’d seen him do so many times.

R : I am drowning my sorrrrooowwwws!

C : What sorrows? Has something gone wrong at work while I was away? You looked a bit...I don’t know.....side-tracked when I saw you earlier.

Robin puffed out her cheeks and pouted.

R : It’s all gone wrong.....but it isn’t your fault.....I’m not s’pposed to call you drunk and tell you how I feel....so I’m not doing’ that....I’m not......I’m jus’ callin’ to tell you it’s OK an’ you an’ Mel should be happy....an’ I’ll get over it....I’m not sexy enough....I know that....an’ I’ll be fine.....oooh.....oh God....I need to puke...

And the phone went dead as Robin quickly ended the call and made her way towards the sink, which was closer than the bathroom, where she spent several minutes hurling up a mixture of quite revolting complexity based on the eclectic mix of foods she’d consumed throughout the evening.

She’d somehow managed to end the call and flick the playlist back on her phone.  
The strains of ‘All by myself’ by Jamie O’Neal sounded in the silence of the flat and Robin screwed up her face and let the tears fall again as she ran the tap and poked cornflakes and Christ knows what down the drain with the end of a spoon.

 

Strike regarded the now dead phone in his hand and let out his breath slowly, dragging his hand across his chin where the bristled hairs rasped at his touch.  
He looked at the time – almost midnight on a Friday evening – and thought for a second before dialling Ilsa’s number.  
She had a key to Robin’s new flat.  
Thankfully she picked up after just a few rings, she sounded slightly muffled and he wondered whether he’d interrupted something.

C : Ilsa? Sorry, have I woken you up?

I : No, Corm...I was just feeding the cats, I’ve got the phone tucked under my chin while I dish it out...hang on while I do the speaker thing. Right....you OK? Back from the training alright? Robin OK?

She fired questions quickly and he could now hear the meowing kittens as well as the sound of a spoon being tapped and a tap being run in the background.

C : I’m back fine....erm, I’m on a date actually.

I : Oh! Fabulous.....how’s it going? How's Robin then?

C: What? Well...that’s the problem...she’s pissed...in her flat...and I’m a bit worried about her.

Ilsa slumped her shoulders at her kitchen counter. She’d assumed, or at least hoped, that the week apart would have made them both realise what was obvious to their friends...namely that they fancied the arses off each other....and when he’d said he was on a date....well.....  
But this therefore partially explained Robin’s drunken state, and a small part of Ilsa flickered with hope again....so she DID like him!

I : Shall I give her a call?

C : Well....she’s just called me and then hung up......Ilsa, who is Mark Darcy?

Ilsa made a tiny galloping dance with her feet as the pieces of the puzzle started to click into place for her.

I: He’s out of a film Corm.....and if she’s been watching that, then yeah.....she’s pissed....bet she’s been singing loudly in her pyjamas and eating shit.

C : She said she’d eaten crisps.....and chocolate....and ice-cream!

I : Oh fuck! That is going to be seriously unpleasant vomit! I hope she’s made it to the bog!

Ilsa was now in the process of gathering her car keys, bag, boots and a jacket as she carried the phone with her.

C : I know it’s a big ask, but could you nip round? You’ve got a key...and I’m....

I: Yeah, on a date....I know. Yeah, I’m on my way let me just leave a note for Nick – he’s out with the visiting gastro people from Sweden....surprisingly I turned down the invite!

Cormoran sniggered slightly, but still felt like he was missing some part of the ‘Robin jigsaw’ that Ilsa had clearly twigged immediately.

C: Cheers Ilsa.

I: Don’t worry...I’ll sort her out. Enjoy the rest of your evening.

She regarded Ossie who was licking the remnants of a pouch of Whiskas off his face with his long tongue.  
“Oh Ossie......why can’t he see that she is the one? We can see it, can’t we baby? And apparently one half of the useless pair has realised it too!” Ilsa was scribbling a note for Nick as she spoke to the feline and was about to leave when she had second thoughts and grabbed a few of the plastic gloves Nick always had stashed in the drawer under the sink for dealing with the cat litter tray (perks of the job!)....just in case she hadn’t made it to the loo!


	3. Stop Look Listen (to your heart)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin spends some quality time hugging her toilet bowl.  
> Strike realises Mel isn't for him (you see Rosenoble.....no need to panic!) The look he gives her by the way is the exact one he uses when he spots the massive bell in the Travel lodge in Career of Evil! (I LOVE that look!)  
> Ilsa rescues and helps Robin to sober up, and discovers Robins true feelings for Cormoran....and of course she gets involved in the best possible Ilsa manner!

Robin made her way to the toilet and slunk to her knees, propping up the toilet seat so that she could hug the white bowl and vomit in relative comfort.   
The aroma from the ‘Ocean Fresh’ lavatory block caused her stomach to spasm again and she hurled up a second quantity of stomach contents, groaning and spitting as she reached up and pressed the flush.

“Oh God....I’m so pathetic!” she muttered, coughing and retching again, spitting out and running her tongue around to remove a stray cornflake from her molar.  
The strains of Sam Smith singing I’m Not the Only One rang out in the living room as she sobbed into the toilet and retched up clear bile from her empty stomach.   
She wished she’d brought a glass of water.

She shuffled around and ran the cold tap in the sink, and used her hand to cup some into her mouth.   
She spat out the first few mouthfuls to remove puke debris from her mouth and then sighed as she swallowed a few cool, refreshing mouthfuls.

Shit....what the fuck did she say to Strike on the phone?

A lot of the alcohol she’d consumed had been expelled from her system, and she was now woozy, but had that awful moment of partial clarity and recognition.....oh bugger!

 

Cormoran felt slightly easier knowing that Ilsa was on her way to sort out Robin.   
He was still mulling over the combination of her appearance in the office with the garbled comments down the phone as Mel reappeared while he stubbed out his fag.  
He raised his eyebrows and followed her back inside to their table and drinks.

“Do you fancy finding somewhere for a coffee or something?” he asked as he drained what remained of his pint.  
Mel wrinkled her nose a little, “I wouldn’t mind a drink, but not a coffee....I don’t do hot drinks,” and she shrugged fractionally as Strike twitched back his neck with a look of complete befuddled confusion.  
“What? No hot drinks? Not even hot chocolate?” he asked.  
Mel shook her head, grinning, “None....I hate them. Don’t even own a kettle!” she stated cheerfully after tossing half of the money for the bill onto the table as Strike removed his wallet and paid the rest.

“You don’t own a kettle?” he verified, almost more amazed about this fact than anything he’d ever uncovered in his day to day investigative work.

The pair of them slid into their coats, Strike scratched his head slightly, still wondering about how he could possibly have enjoyed spending so much time today with a woman who had no relationship to one of his main food groups.  
He felt his phone vibrate against his thigh and apologised before taking it out.   
There was a brief text from Ilsa:  
‘Am here with Robin. She’s OK. Thrown her guts up, feeling a bit stupid and sorry for herself, but OK. I x’

Cormoran gave a brief but heartfelt smile before turning to Mel who was lighting up a cigarette with her lighter.  
“Everything OK? Still want a drink somewhere? I can watch you drink coffee and have a smoothie or something?” she suggested, clearly still invested in getting a little more Cormoran Strike from her evening.  
Strike inhaled and huffed slightly before he answered, “Do you know what Mel, I’m sorry.....there’s somewhere I need to be,” and he dipped his neck slightly, wrinkling his nose and raising his eyebrows.  
Mel nodded gently and continued to inhale on her cigarette.   
Her body language reflected that split second of thinking, ‘He’s gone off the boil quick....what have I done?’  
He was a detective, he spotted the change in her, “I really enjoyed this evening, it’s just that message....I’ve got a friend who is having a bit of a tough time.....I should go and spend some time with them. I’m sorry, Mel.”  
She shrugged slightly, “No worries. It’s been a good evening. And you’ve got my number, soooo, maybe we could do this again sometime. I’d like to,” and she leaned across and gave him a quick, pleasant kiss on the lips. “I’m gonna get off though.....I’m this way,” she flicked her thumb in the opposite direction to the tube station which Strike needed to get to Robin’s flat.  
“I’ll walk with you,” Strike offered, but he received a vehement head shake from his companion.  
“No need Cormoran. It’s busy, I’m fine. I walk around London on my own all the time. You get off to your friend,” and she started striding off, waving her lit cigarette at him as she disappeared into the drifting, but steady stream of pedestrians.

 

Ilsa had reached Robin’s flat in a little less than twenty minutes.   
She parked relatively easily and unlocked the first door to Robin’s flat with the set of keys she had been provided with attached to a small keyring featuring a silver ‘R’. She closed it behind her and went upstairs.   
She wasn’t sure what state Robin would be in, so rather than knock and wait she used the second key and entered.  
“Robin?” she asked, loud enough to be heard, but not shouting in order to alarm her friend.  
She heard a grumbling moan from the opposite side of the space and walked across to find Robin hugging the lavatory, looking like hell and grimacing.

“Fucking Norah! What the hell have you been doing Robin?” she moved as Robin started to press herself up from the floor and supported her still fuzzy brained friend.  
They went through to the main room, which contained all the other elements of her flat, she groaned and Ilsa took a cursory glance around, clocking the empty Baileys bottle, ripped open and partially eaten chocolate, crisps and Crunchy Nut Cornflakes...a few of each scattered across the floor and work counters.   
She also spotted the frozen screen on Robin’s TV – Mark Darcy and Bridget Jones embracing in the snow (the bit just before he says fuck rather deliciously she thought....shit, she shouldn’t know a film that well!)

“What on earth has sparked this.....this....well, whatever the hell this is?!” and she vaguely flailed her arm around as Robin sank down onto the sofa. “Let me make some coffee,” and she went across to the kitchenette, flicking on the kettle and doing a quick tidy up of the counter tops.

“I was going to tell him.....and then he came back with a woman he picked up on training course, or the train home....fuck knows....but they are out on a date and shagging and he clearly doesn’t want me!” Robin slurred, fresh tears filling her eyes.

Ilsa paused as she located a teaspoon and piled the decent, instant coffee Robin had in the smart grey canister into the mugs.   
She was fairly sure she knew who Robin was referring to, based on the information she had pieced together this evening, but she wanted to be sure.

“Robin, when you say ‘him’, do you mean Cormoran?” she waited and watched as Robin nodded sadly. “And, when you say you were going to tell him....what exactly were you going to tell him babes?”  
Robin sniffed and rubbed her hand across her face again, smearing the already disastrous make up into a different, but equally unflattering design, “I missed him Ilsa....I mean really missed him. And I like him.......I like him so much.....not just as a friend Ilsa....I really, really like him.”   
Ilsa had swooped to wrap her arms around her sobbing wreck of a friend, but was secretly thrilled to discover that Robin truly did like Corm.

“Oh...Robin, love,” Ilsa hugged and rocked Robin gently as she clung to her and cried.

“He’s got someone else. And I really thought he liked me Ilsa.....in the pub he put his arm around me [sniff], and it was dead nice, and [hic] then he went on the training [hic] and I thought he might miss me, but he found someone else Ilsa....and he’s out with her now....and I feel so sad,” and Robin slumped, curling herself against Ilsa’s comforting body.

“Robin, Corm is the one who phoned me to come over and check on you....you called him.....I assume when you were very drunk.....what did you say exactly? You said something about Mark Darcy by all accounts....he has no idea who that is by the way!” Ilsa explained before hearing the kettle click off and extracting herself to pour water into the mugs.

Robin groaned at the slim recollection of calling Strike’s number, “Oh God.....I have no idea! Shit.....the state I was in I could have said anything Ils.....fuck!”  
Ilsa smiled slightly, whatever Robin had admitted to Cormoran it could either be put down to Baileys, or it could be the straw that broke the camel’s back and finally got them together!  
She paused and tapped out a quick text to Strike before bringing the coffees across to Robin on the sofa.

Ilsa perched on the other chair; a wooden framed, small winged style affair covered with a zany fabric which featured magnifying glasses, question marks and pipes. It had become known as the Sherlock Chair.

“You look a bit like shit, Robin,” Ilsa mentioned as they wrapped their hands around their mugs and sipped. Robin snorted slightly and blew across the hot liquid, knowing that it would do her good.  
The playlist was still ticking away in the background, some growling Paolo Nutini track was now playing, it was a sultry and laid back addition to the ambiance between the two ladies.  
“Thanks for the resounding morale boost. The guy I fancy is shagging another woman before I get the chance to tell him, I have spent the evening poking sick down a plughole and my best mate tells me I look like shit!” but she chuckled as she sipped her strong coffee and Ilsa started to laugh too.

“Go and wipe what’s left of your make up off your face for a start while your coffee cools down......and tell me which plughole you mean,” Ilsa winced and bent to fish one of the latex gloves from her handbag, receiving raised eyebrows from the rapidly sobering up Robin.  
Robin pointed at Ilsa’s hands as she wriggled and snapped on the glove, “The fact that you have those is a whole different story....and at some point I will need to know.....but for now....that one,” and she indicated the kitchen sink as she placed her mug on the small side table and shuffled dejectedly into the bathroom again.

She glanced in the mirror and pulled a face, which became even worse when she stuck out her furred, slightly green tongue.  
With a groan she slathered cleansing lotion onto cotton wool pads and removed the panda eyes and smudged lipstain from her face.   
She cleaned her teeth, swirled around mouthwash and splashed cold water on her face before dragging a brush through her tangled hair and twirling it into a messy clip.  
She regarded herself....her eyes were still a bit red rimmed from crying, but she looked more like herself. 

Ilsa had cleaned the sink in Robin’s absence, and had chucked the used gloves into the bin. She was rinsing her hands in the sink, using the antibacterial hand wash Robin kept beside the Fairy liquid, when Robin joined her. 

“That looks better,” Ilsa remarked as Robin went across to her bed and rummaged through a drawer, pulling out a fresh top.   
She turned her back and removed the one she was wearing, tossed it into the laundry basket, and put the creamy coloured one on instead.  
She felt instantly better just being in a fresh, detergent scented garment rather than one which had the vaguest dregs of vomit and ice-cream engrained in it.

Robin rejoined Ilsa at the sofa and armchair, “I feel a bit better now.....thanks for coming over. Won’t Nick wonder where you are?” she asked, drinking her coffee and feeling the warming and soothing liquid trickle through her body, neutralising the effect of the remains of the alcohol in her bloodstream.  
Ilsa shook her head, “He’s out with work, I left him a note when Corm rang me.”  
Robin winced slightly at the mention of his name again, “Oh Ilsa.......what the hell am I going to do? I don’t think I can work with him anymore!”  
Ilsa drained her mug, “Why? I mean, OK, you’ve realised that you like him....but, surely you can control yourself at work.....Jesus, he’s been doing it around you for ages!”  
“What?” Robin regarded Ilsa quizzically.  
“Well, he hasn’t exactly said as much....but Robin, he likes you...and you’re stunning.....he’d be mad, blind or a fucking monk to have not noticed!” Ilsa replied. Her phone buzzed as she spoke and she glanced at it, making a tight ‘ooo’ shape with her mouth.  
Robin arched her eyebrow, “Nick?”  
Ilsa shook her head, “Corm.......date’s gone home, he’s asking whether he should come over?”  
Robin pulled a face and shrieked as she leapt onto Ilsa on the chair as she screwed up her face and typed on her phone quickly.   
She flashed the message to Robin before pressing ‘send’.

“NOOOOooooooooooooo! ILSA! Why have you sent that?” Robin ceased wrestling Ilsa.

“Robin, look....whatever happened today, you said you were going to tell Corm how you felt; and you didn’t.....so now you can. He’s obviously not that into this other woman cos she’s gone home and he’s alone.......and trust me, if he’d had even half an interest that wouldn’t be the case! So; you look great again, you smell OK and other than this place looking a bit of a mess......” she trailed off as Robin stood and began to pace about, “Look, Robin! Whatever you said over the phone to him will be running around in his head....you know what he’s like. You have to tackle it.....even if you just want to explain it away by saying you were drunk and haven’t a clue what you said!”

Robin considered what her friend said.   
She was right of course, whatever garbled shite had come out of her mouth down the phone would be ticking around in Strike’s brain, and she had to address it otherwise he’d be unable to let it rest....which in turn meant she wouldn’t be able to pretend it had never happened!

She nodded mutely, but hid her head in the back of the sofa and tried to crawl her way into the cushions.  
“Right, I’m getting my stuff together and getting back to my hopefully squiffy husband,” Ilsa waggled her eyebrows saucily as she threaded her arms into the sleeves of her jacket.  
Robin gave an amused snort....poor Nick.....or maybe lucky Nick?!


	4. Someone like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, aftermath of Robin's drunken evening - she has sobered up thanks to Ilsa, but Corm has just arrived.  
> Time for admissions of feelings? Or time to pretend it never happened?  
> Bit of both, and body language at the end that speaks volumes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have mentioned quite a few songs throughout this - there are quite w few in this chapter.  
> You may want to check out Ray LaMontagne's back catalogue - I have added a couple at pertinent moments that for me just really 'work' as a backing track for this pair.....particularly the final one I mention.

There was a loud thump from the door downstairs, Robin jumped and dragged her hand through her hair after removing the clip that had been sort of holding it back from her face......she felt like she might need the amber length to hide behind....a security blanket of hair!  
Ilsa gave her a quick hug, “Remember.....he was on a date, but he’s here.....think about that will you!” and she blew a kiss as she left the door to the flat open and thumped down the stairs.

Cormoran was rustling in his pocket when she opened the door for him. He looked relieved, but sheepish at Ilsa’s obvious decision to leave them to....well, whatever the fuck this was!

“She’s stopped puking now....you’re safe!” Ilsa grinned, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek and one handed hug as she passed him and he went to enter the hallway. 

Robin heard the laboured sound of Strike’s ‘end of a weary day’ tread on the steep stairs and his mumbled, “knock, knock!” rather than a physical tap on her open door.  
She groaned and glanced across, making eye contact with his trouser legs and not daring to lift her shame filled eyes further, “Hiya,” she managed, before screwing up her face.

He glanced around and took in the pretty much empty tub of Phish Food, and the partially eaten bar of Dairy Milk – which he helped himself to a few broken off chunks of as he slid off his dark grey jacket and placed it on the small bannister rail beside the door which acted as a divider to the ‘hall’ and main room.

“You sure it was just you partying here this evening!?” he smirked through a mouthful of chocolate, but caught Robin’s tilted neck and eye roll towards the wall, even from her position of hutched with bent legs on the seat and her back towards him, and he changed it to a grimace.

“Definitely just me.....definitely!”

Two definitelys!  
Even an untrained investigator would have picked up on that!

He sucked his breath in through his teeth and regarded the seating options – the Sherlock chair was the most sensible option, but Robin didn’t look like she needed sensible right now. “Budge up!” he said, gently nudging her shoulder with a flick of his fingers.  
Robin sniffed and wriggled a little along the small sofa, which was technically large enough for two people....but when one was Cormoran it would always be a squeeze.....but she craved his presence in a weird, self destructive sort of way.

He flopped himself beside her, resting his left arm along the back of the sofa to create enough room for them both.  
She had no choice but to slump against his bulk, but he felt her sigh deeply as she fidgeted with the hem of her pyjamas and her body softened against his.

“Ilsa tells me you are all puked out,” he smiled as she clearly giggled slightly beside him and nodded.

“Not a good idea to eat Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food using a Dairy Milk spoon and wash it down with a litre of Baileys........who knew!” she grinned ruefully.

Strike rocked gently against her back with his comforting strength, a waft of his aftershave and cigarette smoke drifted across to toy with Robin’s nostrils.  
“I’ll bear that in mind next time I feel the need to get hammered,” he added and for the first time noticed the paused TV screen, the image frozen on it smeared with....something! “What’s on the TV?”  
“Oh, God.....Mark Darcy and Bridget Jones having a lovely happy ever after....at least for this episode of the franchise,” she explained.  
Strike noted vaguely the name and the fact that the character on the screen appeared to be wearing a large overcoat not dissimilar to his own.

“I actually meant what is ON the TV....on the screen...that smudge...or dare I ask?” he joked as she giggled and covered her eyes with her hand in response.  
“It’ll be an eclectic combination of melted chocolate and ice-cream....at least I hope that’s all it is!” she wrinkled her nose and shook her head, which rocked her curved back further against his solid torso.

They sat in the sort of comfortable silence that often existed between them; each lost in their own thoughts; neither needing to know exactly what the other’s were.  
Eventually Robin inhaled and twisted her neck slightly, her gaze falling to Strike’s thighs, the back of her head resting fractionally against his left shoulder, “ I’m sorry I rang and spoiled your date,” she stated.  
She heard and felt his slight grunt before he softly responded, “I’m glad you rang me....and you didn’t spoil my ‘date’,” he almost verbally added air quotes to the final word.  
Robin snorted, “Stop lying.....of course I ruined it, hence why you are here instead of.......” she trailed off.

Strike flexed his jaw slightly, thinking back a little to the drunken phone call, the Mark Darcy comment and paused TV, the fact that she’d said she wasn’t sexy enough.....for what, for whom?  
And hadn’t she said something about telling how she felt?  
Or rather not telling him.....was he missing something big style?

“Robin, I’m here because I was concerned. You rang me drunk and then the phone went dead as you said you were about to puke.....that isn’t the type of thing you just ignore and move on from, even if you are sharing a pleasant evening with someone....at least I don’t,” he shrugged and allowed the thumb of the hand resting on the back of the sofa to gently rub against the soft fabric of her top.

Robin sighed slightly and became very aware of his closeness to her as she answered, “Well, you’ve checked that I’m fine....infact you got Ilsa to do that....so you’ve eased your conscience......I can’t really remember what I said to you....I was a bit....well....it’s fine. I’ll be fine,” she sniffed and hitched her knees up with her arms to rest her chin on them in a small ball. 

The phrase she used flicked a small switch in his brain. 

“You used that phrase on the phone; and it implies that you are not fine right now. Come on, speak your mind......what’s gone on?” he coaxed, twisting fractionally further in his seat, inhaling deeply at the sight of the sheet of amber hair falling over the slumped shoulders of the woman that he completely and utterly adored, who looked so sad.  
Every fibre in his body wanted to fix things to make her happy again, although he knew that what she needed was to be enabled to ‘fix’ whatever it was for herself.

The playlist of ‘sad songs for single women’ was still going softly in the background and seemed to be flicking through most of the back catalogue of Ray LaMontagne; Be Here Now had melted into Such a Simple Thing, and now the sultry, bluesy intro to You are the Best Thing was starting up.

Robin shifted around on the sofa, her knees flipped to the side, her waist twisted to face Strike, although her eyes were still firmly trained on her fidgeting hands in her lap rather than on the pools of swirling green peering down at her from beneath Cormoran’s hooded eyes.

She took a deep breath, “Look....I can’t really tell you....not now....I just.....I’d had a hard week without you and I was looking forward to catching you up at the Tottenham.....but....it’s fine. I’ll be fine....so, I’m sure you’ve got her number....give her a ring and get round there,” and she finished by rubbing her soft palm against his right hand resting on his lap. 

She still hadn’t raised her face up to him, but he could almost ‘see’ her face forming a tense, empty eyed expression......like the one he’d seen on her face in the office when he’d turned up with Mel......SHIT!  
Did she like him?  
Was that what the issue was?  
Was that why she’d got pissed and rung him up?

FUCK!

He could test the water......he could just ask her out right too......or he could fish a bit and see.

“I’m sorry I spoiled things for you....I got talking to Mel on the train and on the training course today.....we both smoke so.........I haven’t been on a date in quite a while.......,” he trailed off, not really sure what he was saying, or what he was trying to say to Robin.  
She nodded slightly though and made herself more comfortable on the sofa beside him.  
She rested her head back against his left bicep and although she still didn’t look at him he could see she was pursing her lips in her ‘I’m calm and thinking’ expression which he knew and loved from watching her in the office.

“So.....you going to call her? Go out again?” Robin asked, breathing in more of his masculine, comforting scent......maybe that had to be enough for now, for her anyway.  
She felt him shake his head and growl slightly in response, “Don’t think so...I mean, she’s perfectly nice...but,” and he puffed out his cheeks, his warm breath ghosting against her neck rather gorgeously.

“But what?” Robin prompted.....aching for him to say something along the lines of ‘because I adore you, Robin, and nobody else compares.’

His actual response however was, “Well.....she doesn’t drink hot drinks.....she doesn’t even own a kettle,” which he almost petulantly stated, wrinkling his brow and shaking his head gently, his gaze somewhere between the TV screen and the wall of Robin’s flat.  
Robin squirmed around and for the first time since he entered her flat met sought out his gaze, “What? Who the fuck doesn’t own a kettle?”  
He looked back at her aghast expression with his own, “I know! It’s one of the most alarming things I’ve ever heard.....and given the job we do that says a lot!” his eyes were shining now, so were Robin’s – the one may have contributed to the other!

“God! No...I can see why that would be an issue.....tea is one of your basic food groups!” Robin stated, calmly settling herself back into his relaxed, comfortable sprawl on the sofa.

They remained that way for a while as Ray LaMontagne continued to growl out Hold You in My Arms.

“Does she not even do Lemsip?” Robin asked drowsily.

Cormoran shrugged fractionally, making his left arm slide down, his hand now resting fully against her shoulder, and she didn’t flinch away.  
“Presumably not. It’s just too weird. I don’t think I could cope without tea...or coffee.....or the prospect of it.....no kettle!?!” he replied, almost trying to make some semblance of sense of the situation outloud.

Robin chuckled slightly, “Does that mean you want a cuppa now?”  
He gave a slight grumbling groan, “I’m comfy....maybe later. ‘kay?”  
Robin nodded her face closer into his warm shoulder and whimpered slightly as his hand wrapped more firmly around her shoulders, drawing her closer to him still; his right hand closing across the front of himself and clasping over his left at her upper arm.  
“Yeah....OK,” she sighed.  
He was so warm, so cosy to be next to....no wonder Mel had leapt at the chance....but he was hers for now.

She yawned and wriggled a little more as he stretched out his legs on the wooden table which had served as an additional seat when the four of them had been round when she moved in.  
There was a striped woollen blanket on the arm of the sofa which he could just about reach....he’d bought it for her when she moved it, and was quite ridiculously pleased that she’d clearly been using it – the overwhelming aroma of her soft perfume wafted from it as he clumsily draped it across them both with just his free right hand – there was no way he was moving the left from Robin’s body....it just felt too right where it was!

He felt and heard Robin sigh softly, curled beside him and fitting into the curve of his side so perfectly.

He glanced across at the smudged TV screen again and smiled, then his eyeline was drawn to the cream coloured electric kettle plugged in on the counter top, next to a set of pale grey canisters and a stack of multi-coloured mugs.  
“Yeah,” he breathed softly, dipping his face, grazing his lips across her scalp.

The playlist was still going and he could see her phone was out of reach, but he had no desire to move, and having meandered into a couple of Van Morrison tracks had now found it’s way back to Ray LaMontagne’s soulful growl.  
It was soothing to him to sleep with a backing track, so he rested his head sideways against Robin’s, slouching slightly and resting his right hand under the blanket on her hip and drifted into contented snores as Let me Be the One faded out.


End file.
